


Recovery

by chaya



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Relationship, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/pseuds/chaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt was on a lot of drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery

Matt was on a lot of drugs.  
  
John knew he'd been on drugs since before they'd gotten to the hospital, or put in the high-security suite, or any of it; the kid's knee was shot almost at point blank, and for someone new to even getting shot _at_ , that really called for some morphine.  
  
The morphine seemed to keep Matt talking. First he talked about how cool it was that there were guards stationed outside their medical suite, and how lame it was of him to take like ten minutes to make it over here when he was only like right next door, and then he talked about the food they'd given him, and how his blood sugar was finally better after like eighteen hours or whatever, and when he finally wheeled closer and asked if John if he was feeling okay himself, John was already almost asleep.  
  
John was a lot more drugged up than Matt was. John wasn't going to be out of that hospital for a long while.  
  
John would wake up a lot without really waking up - he'd sort of open his eyes and start to sit up and then remember where he was, feel the IV in his arm, sigh, look around for a phone, wonder where Lucy was, close his eyes again. Eventually some FBI guys came in with a plaque and a medal or something - it was sort of hard to concentrate, and his vision was pretty blurry - and they were in the middle of some speech about duty and preserving the country when John just went and fell asleep again, maybe a little bit on purpose, because honestly, outside of check-ins from his daughter, he really didn't want company right now.  
  
Lucy did visit. She brought 'flowers' in the form of a rather more butch potted plant thing which might have been a hosta, and she sat and talked with him a while. School was going well, she'd dumped the guy she hadn't been going out with, it was probably mostly just his car anyway, and Mom was okay, she was just, well, Mom. Lucy'd even bought him a new cell phone that she promised to call every morning and every evening. And she did - John forgot most of the conversations, damn morphine, but Matt taught him how to check the call logs on the phone. 9:48 AM, Lucy. 7:13 PM, Lucy. 9:24 AM, Lucy. 7:20 PM, Lucy.  
  
Matt upgraded to crutches pretty soon, and entertained John by hobbling in and recounting the last week. It was very formulaic.  
  
'Do you remember when you did that?'  
  
'Yeah, I do.'  
  
'That was cool. I could never do that.'  
  
'You could. Just take some shooting lessons...'  
  
'Yeah, maybe.'  
  
The conversations couldn't go on very long. John got dry mouth from one medicine or another. Matt would get back on his feet to the sink, filling yellow patterned dixie cups up with water and bringing them back to the bed.   
  
'Here. Do you want another?'  
  
They came by to give Matt a plaque, too. He asked if he could trade it in for getting taken off the government's hacker list, and they said they'd look into it. They also offered him a job. Matt said he'd think about it.  
  
'What do you think I should tell them?'  
  
'I dunno. Do you want the job?'  
  
'I dunno. They won't really tell me anything about it.'  
  
'What _did_ they tell you?'  
  
'The pay.'  
  
'A lot?'  
  
'Way too much.'  
  
Eventually Matt was released. He managed to wrangle up clearance to keep visiting John. John was grateful - he was getting stir-crazy, and he wasn't patching up as quickly as he was used to.  
  
'I guess I'm not as young as I used to be.'  
  
'You're not old. Which one is it?'  
  
'The shoulder one, mostly. Some tendon or something got torn up.'  
  
'That's why your right arm's all...'  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
Matt got really big-eyed sometimes. You'd think he'd never seen a cop or anything before.  
  
'Can I touch it?'  
  
'What?'  
  
'The. Never mind.'  
  
'What, the hole in my shoulder?'  
  
Lucy'd gone on a date with him already. She told John a little about it on his new cell phone the next evening. Matt was a real gentleman.  
  
'Sorry, it's stupid.'  
  
'Go ahead.'  
  
'What?'  
  
'The way they've got me doped up, I doubt I'll feel it anyway.'  
  
Matt's face was strange when he peeled back the bandages and put his fingertip toward the start of the wound. Reverence or something. He'd gotten his own scar, too, right over the kneecap. You would have thought the novelty of that stuff would have worn off.  
  
'I'll see you tomorrow, then?'  
  
'I'm sure as hell not going anywhere.'  
  
'Alright. Seeya.'  
  
Matt ended up taking the job. It was high-security top-secret bullshit stuff; he visited John and told him all about it anyway.  
  
'They're dividing the old Woodlawn setup into four different locations, and I'm in charge of writing the blueprints for the new security systems. It's ridiculous. Half the guys I'm in charge of hate me because I don't have half the training they do, half of them saw me on tv and think I'm a hero or something, and half of them think I'm ridiculous because my last job was IT stuff for end-users.'  
  
'That's three halves.'  
  
'Yeah, well, I'm in charge of the nation's economy and you're not.'  
  
Matt and Lucy broke up after two and a half weeks. Lucy told him about it a couple days after.  
  
'Dad, you could've told me.'  
  
'Told you what?'  
  
'Are you serious?'  
  
'Honey, I've been off the painkillers for six hours at most, don't expect me to know what you're being so cryptic ab-'  
  
'You seriously don't know?'  
  
Matt didn't talk about it, even mention it, but Lucy didn't explicitly say anything about him being a dick to her, so John didn't feel it right to press him. He seemed sort of stressed with the new workload and responsibility. Maybe he'd broken up with her to focus on helping put America back together. A decent reason, if there was such a thing.  
  
'How much longer do you think you'll be here for?'  
  
'The doc says four days to a week. Are there still reporters camped out in the parking lot?'  
  
'They've gotten into the hospital lobby now. I wear a baseball cap and high-collar jacket when I get in here to visit you now. Being a media hero sucks.'  
  
'There are worse things.'  
  
'Yeah. At least I have hair.'  
  
'Heh, fuck you too.'  
  
The doctor is cheerful when he brings in the wheelchair and announces John fit to be discharged. John smiles a little, eases himself into the fresh set of street clothes Lucy brought last week, and pockets the cell phone. He calls Lucy first, and they talk while he takes the taxi back to his apartment. Matt programmed his number in there as well, so he calls Matt and offers to take him out for drinks. It only seems right.  
  
"Hey man! Cool to see you out of the hospital gown." Matt looked healthier in the bar lighting. Not as pale. "You still look like shit."  
  
"Thanks. What're you having?"  
  
"I dunno, I was thinking grape soda or... Jesus, man, don't look at me like that. I was joking. Is that beer? I'll have that too."  
  
John had already knocked a few back before Matt got there, but Matt was catching up in drunkenness if not glasses. He got chatty again, talking about work and some asshole named Cooper who always corrected him, and Warlock's latest quest to do some hack into world-of-war-something and something to do with base-code, and most of it floated in one ear and out the other, but John didn't mind. John nodded along, and Matt got more flushed and rambling and long-winded as he went.  
  
"...and so college, you know, it's not for everyone, I guess, and you really learn that when you get kicked out and have to spend a couple weeks working drive-thru before you can pay for an apartment that doesn't have roaches as co-signers, but, you know, I didn't get out of there before I'd named half the little guys and gotten attached..."  
  
Matt drew his finger along the rim of his glass as he talked. Occasionally he looked up to see if John was still paying attention, or awake, or something. Matt looked bothered or nervous about something, and it seemed to be getting kind of worse. John figured he had work to do at home about the whole new Woodlawn thing, so he said he'd drive Matt home as he was clearly soberest.  
  
"Soberest isn't a word."  
  
"No, but at least I didn't just tell my 'first kiss story' three times in a row three in three different settings. C'mon, let's get you home."  
  
John's new car still had that fresh smell to it. They'd asked him what kind he wanted, and he said he just wanted one like the old one except not smashed up, and to the government's credit, it was the same down to the interior detailing. All that was missing was the empty cigarette packets in the glove compartment to cover up the spare Colt.  
  
"Where's your new apartment?"  
  
"Across the street from the old one."  
  
"You're not big on change, are you, kid."  
  
"Hey, I'll have you know I use a completely different shampoo now."  
  
The traffic's good, of course. Most cars are still in the shop. It's a good month to be a mechanic.  
  
John pulls in to visitor parking right by the door and puts it in park. Matt still takes a while whenever he gets up, or into cars, or out of them, and John gets that. Matt's already even gotten good at finding the right kind of baggy jeans to hide the bandages. Matt's getting better at this life than he maybe realizes.  
  
"Thanks, man."  
  
"S'no problem. Just promise me you're taking the elevator."  
  
"Heh. Yeah, I think jogging's off the list for a week at least."  
  
Matt goes quiet then, which probably wouldn't be weird if he was anyone else. John waits at first, but Matt hasn't even opened the door to get out yet, so it's not a concentrating-on-the-knee thing. He looks over, and Matt's just looking at him, and so John tries to think back and remember if it's his turn in the conversation still, or if he promised to go up and help move something in the new apartment, and he's halfway through calculating how long it's been since he's been off the short-term-memory-nulling vicosomething when Matt's practically launched forward mouth first, one hand steadied on the back of the seat and the other fumbling with John's belt buckle, and there's two seconds of John sitting there and processing and then there's the tongue swiping across his lips, practically begging to be let in, and that's when it clicks that now's the time to move Matt back into his seat, and tell him he's drunk, and this is his stop.  
  
So he does this, and says this, and Matt listens, and swallows, perfectly still and silent before nodding and mumbling a see you later or an apology or something like that, and he practically runs into the apartment lobby and out of sight.  
  
John sits with his hands on the wheel for a few minutes, more digesting and sobering up than anything else, and then he drives home and sleeps until two. The station calls in and asks if he feels fit enough to come back in next Monday. He says sure. Anything to stave off more cabin fever.  
  
Lucy still calls, just once a day now, but it's every day. It's nice. Matt doesn't drop by at all, though, and doesn't call, and John figures he's busy and probably still embarrassed. John debates calling Matt up and telling him that it wouldn't be the first time a guy's had too much to drink and gotten confused, but he's never been good with heart-to-hearts, so he waits it out. Matt'll call when he's ready, not mention it, and ask if John wants to go see the game or something.  
  
It'll work out.


End file.
